


The Spider and the Fly

by Muriel_Perun



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Clothing Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:36:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/pseuds/Muriel_Perun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief but torrid affair between Bashir and Garak seems to be winding to an end, but Garak has a trick up his sleeve. Will it bring them together or tear them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spider and the Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally appeared in The Ninth Plain and Simple Zine.

Julian Bashir was planning an evening out. Dressed in a close-fitting black tunic and pants, he slunk along the Promenade trying to look inconspicuous during the heaviest traffic time of the day—just after the day shift for Star Fleet personnel.

Quark’s bar was packed, and the Dabo tables were in full spin, thanks to a recently arrived transport full of Bajoran visitors. All through the cavernous passageway there sounded an excited bustle as restauranteurs geared up for their busiest time and shopkeepers hawked their wares, offering special bargains for the last hour or two before closing. Dr. Bashir hardly glanced at the shops, but headed straight for one in particular. And he wasn’t on a buying trip.

He said hello to a few passing acquaintances, blushing furiously when Kira waved to him from Quark’s, wondering if she knew where he was going. _But how could she?_ he reminded himself. Everyone was going somewhere at this time of day. He could be on his way to have a bite of Klingon food, for all she knew, when in reality he was heading for Garak’s tailor shop, which was already shuttered, ready to close for the night.

Reaching the doorway, he glanced around before going inside. No one seemed especially interested to see him there, but he was relieved to finally be inside with the door shut behind him, reducing the tumult outside to a whisper. Inside the empty shop it was dim and slightly warmer than elsewhere. His thin tunic, designed for him by Garak, clung to his skin, making his armpits feel clammy. Garak probably had the environmental controls set to maximum temperature, which, due to energy-saving regulations, wasn’t sufficient to keep him comfortable.

Bashir thought of the warm, dry feeling of Garak’s skin. He had touched Garak many times while treating him for various illnesses, but only two weeks before had he finally come to explore all of that gray, reptilian body with its ornamental scales, protrusions, and depressions that made his skin resemble a road map of a country torn by earthquakes.  

“Then your skin is the desert,” Garak had smoothly responded, “all dunes and velvet curves.”

Remembering, Bashir felt a clench of arousal in his belly. For the first time in his life—and his first time with a male—Bashir had felt completely satisfied by a lover. Garak seemed to think of everything to please him, and he was always ready, always erect, which made Bashir wonder uncomfortably if perhaps he wasn’t completely satisfying Garak. The last two weeks had taught him quite a bit about pleasure, but, for all that, their relationship wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Bashir was starting to think about moving on.

The tailor emerged from the back of the shop, interrupting his thoughts.

“Can I help . . . ah, Dr. Bashir. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is it really a surprise, Garak?” Bashir asked, a bit hurt. “I thought you’d expect to see me tonight.”

“Of course I’m pleased to see you, doctor,” Garak said seriously, “but I didn’t expect you to come to my shop. I thought you were still ashamed to be seen in public with me.” He said it in such an even tone that Bashir couldn’t hear a hint of the pain that must have inspired those words.

 _We don’t really know each other very well,_ Bashir thought, feeling depressed. True to his suspicions, the initial euphoria was passing and the rough road ahead began to reveal its contours. Bashir usually liked to steal out of a relationship before this point. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, Garak,” he answered, knowing it wasn’t quite true. He thought guiltily about his furtive behavior of a moment before.

Garak eyed him sharply. “I see. Do you suppose you’ll ever again act as if you’re glad to see me when I meet you at the replimat, or will you always be distant when Dax and Sisko are at the next table?”

Bashir looked at him helplessly. “I’m sorry. I was just . . . .”

“Ashamed,” Garak finished for him.

“But, Garak,” Bashir cried, “it’s all so new. You have to give me time to get used to it. To get used to you,” he finished lamely, wishing he were elsewhere.

“So, what would you like to do?” Garak asked, relenting a little. “Shall we walk out of here hand in hand and go to my quarters? Or your quarters, if you like.”

“I thought we might go to Quark’s,” Bashir said uneasily.

“But not hand in hand?”

Bashir looked at his feet. Garak’s possessiveness made him distinctly uncomfortable; he wondered if he would be better off going to Quark’s alone.

“Ah. Well, it’s a start. I would love to go to Quark’s with you, doctor. But first there’s something I want you to try on.” Garak went behind the counter and pulled some cloth from a storage closet.

“What? I haven’t left you any alterations lately.” Bashir’s unease increased, but so did his curiosity.

“No, indeed you haven’t. I made you this on my own initiative. It’s a kind of gift.”

In the dimness Bashir tried to see the garment Garak held over the crook of his arm. The fabric had a strange springy quality to it, as if it were very stiff and light.

“Why, thank you, Garak. I’ll take it home and try it on later. I’m already dressed for Quark’s.” What if he didn’t like it? He’d be forced to wear it to Quark’s anyway for fear of hurting the tailor’s feelings.

Garak didn’t move to let him take it. “Put it on now,” he said quietly. He handed it to Bashir while steering him to the dressing room with a hand placed in the small of his back. “It’s not exactly outerwear, you see. It’s something you will wear only for me. Your other clothing will fit over it easily.”

Bashir looked nervously at Garak. The tailor’s eyes glittered strangely in the dimness. “Why do you want me to put this on right now, Garak?” he asked. “What is it?”

“It’s something you asked me for, indirectly.” Garak sighed. “Doctor, if I can’t touch you in public, can I at least have the pleasure of knowing that you are wearing my gift under your uniform?”

Guilt hit Bashir again. “Oh, all right,” he said sharply, heading for the dressing room.

“Remember to remove everything you’re wearing before you put it on,” Garak called after him. “Everything.”

Bashir peeled off his black tunic and laid it carelessly on a chair, then kicked off his boots, socks, underwear, and pants all at once. Damn it, he supposed Garak would want to see him in this creation before he put his clothes back on. He felt awkward playing dress-up. No one had ever given him sexy lingerie before. How Kira would laugh if she knew about this! No matter how hot he and Garak were together in bed, this whole affair was impossible, ripe with risks for embarrassment. He was going to be forced to call a halt soon.

The garment seemed like a shapeless mass when he picked it up. In the dim dressing room it looked dark brown and floppy, loose-woven like a burlap sack. _Where the hell do you put your head in? Or is it feet first?_ He decided it was, and stuck them gingerly through the one opening he found, surprised when the fabric caught on his toes. “Damn,” he swore, thinking he’d torn it, but as he pulled gently, the cloth covered both his legs. His feet were covered, too, except for his toes, which protruded from ten separate toe holes. He wondered how he’d gotten every toe in the right place; he hadn’t noticed the level of detail in this thing before. Really, he shouldn’t underestimate Garak’s skill as a tailor. If his friend had sewn this himself for a gift, it could be something really special. Bashir started to be interested. What _was_ this thing?

What had seemed an impossibly short piece of fabric stretched to cover his thighs, groin and torso, though it didn’t fit right at the crotch and it bagged at the waist. Bashir eased his arms in and found two sleeves that hadn’t seemed to be there a moment before, with ten separate finger holes, leaving his fingertips free. He peered at himself in the dark dressing-room mirror. Garak always kept his dressing rooms practically unlit so that his customers would have to go outside into the main shop to admire themselves, where Garak could point out all the attractive features of whatever garment they were considering. Bashir found himself in the same position now. As he walked outside, he found that the dark brown fabric bound at the thighs and chafed his tender skin. There was no way he would wear this another minute. Garak could see him and then it was coming right off. After his initial good impression, he was surprised and annoyed at how ill made it was. So, _this_ was Garak’s special token of esteem?

When he left the dressing room, he found that Garak had moved his full-length mirror over to the dressing room door. Bashir saw himself, looking as if he were wrapped in a dark brown sack.

“What’s this supposed to be, Garak?” Bashir asked tartly. “I feel like a fool in this thing. I know you’re a good tailor, but this time I don’t think you even tried.”

“Be quiet, doctor, and watch the mirror. Your body heat is bringing it to life now.”

Bashir stared and saw a warm glow begin at his feet and undulate up his body in a leisurely wave, engulfing him in flame from head to toe. His skin crawled with heat.

“Garak, I’m on fire!” he cried through the golden fog, though at the moment he spoke he knew it wasn’t flame that had swallowed him, but something else that was passing quickly, leaving a tingling layer on his skin. “What was that?” he breathed, looking at himself in wonder.

The ill-fitting sack had disappeared as if consumed by flame, leaving in its place a golden sheen, a garment that covered Bashir exactly like a second skin.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“I knew you’d like it,” Garak replied happily.

There were places that looked dull in the glass and Bashir realized that certain spots—his shoulders, a large round on each thigh, his fingertips, toes, neck and face—were free of the shining stuff that made him look like a young god. His genitals were bunched together tightly by the fabric, and a soft seam intruded between his buttocks, spreading them slightly apart. On his hands, the shine faded until he barely knew it was there but for the tingling that flashed everywhere across his body like heat lightning.

“But what is it?” Bashir insisted. “What does it do?”

“Just move,” Garak ordered, smiling.

Bashir took a step towards him and nearly fell into his arms. Seemingly from out of nowhere his nerves were overrun with sensation. It was an aching, a longing that assailed him inside and out; a craving, violent desire to be touched everywhere at once, to caress, to fuck, to be fucked endlessly. He ran his hands down his own chest and howled with frustration.

“Garak, Garak,” he cried urgently. “I want . . . I want . . . .” But he could say no more than a few broken, pleading words, mixed with sobs.

Garak said soothingly, “Oh, I know!” And he took the young man between his strong hands, stroking and mouthing Bashir’s skin to create a thousand reverberating sensations, unleashing an uproar in his nerves. Bashir tore Garak’s clothing off in a frenzy of desire, unconcerned to hear the expensive fabric rip under his hands.

“Fuck me,” he panted, “make me come. Please!”

“Certainly, doctor. It’s a great pleasure to hear you ask me for it so sincerely.”

“You’ve done something. I can’t understand this . . . .” Bashir’s body was wracked with tremors and sobs. “Help me!” he cried, pinching his own nipples when Garak abandoned them. Reaching down to take his own cock into his hand, Bashir realized suddenly that, although fully erect, it was held down tightly by the second skin he wore. “Take this thing off me!” he wailed.

“Just a moment,” Garak said calmly. “I can fix that.” He stroked the swollen organ gently, teasing it up and away from the scrotum until it stood stiffly, coated by a golden sheen of its own. Somewhere in his crazed mind, Bashir belatedly made the very frightening observation that the material was adapting itself to his every movement and contour. But he had no chance to act on that thought, for Garak was urging him to his knees and he complied eagerly, longing to be filled.

He expected a delay while Garak lubricated his opening, but was surprised and gratified to find himself entered immediately. His lover’s cock seemed to sink into him with no pain, in contrast to their other encounters, which had been a struggle. Bashir pushed back hard, hearing his own voice grow hoarse with frustration until Garak grabbed him firmly and tugged his erection with a force that surely would have hurt him before. But the strong sensations again set off a million flashes of fire through his body. It was as if he came all over, moaning with delicious relief.

But his erection didn’t subside.

“Garak, what’s wrong with me?” he asked anxiously.

“Nothing, dear doctor,” Garak said, continuing to push into him. “A few days ago, you said you wanted to be as insatiable as I am. Well, now you are. Enjoy it while it lasts!”

The suit. The suit had done this to him. It must be some type of neural net. The rest of his thoughts were swallowed up as he succumbed to the continual waves of desire that sent him into a frenzy. Garak didn’t have enough hands to satisfy him. He wanted to be fondled everywhere.

Three times he came while Garak fucked him. Still unsatisfied, he rubbed himself hard until he came while Garak watched.

“Where’s the semen?” Bashir asked, confused. “Have I come so often that my body can’t catch up?”

“Not at all,” laughed Garak, “the fabric absorbs it. It absorbs everything that touches you or comes out of you: all your sweat, your semen, everything.”

Bashir realized that he was only sweaty in those patches that the fabric didn’t cover.

As if reading his thoughts, Garak planted a soft bite on his bare shoulder. Bashir shuddered. The touch of Garak’s mouth made his shoulder feel like a pool of cool, deep water surrounded by hot lava. Garak bent to lick the bare patch on his thigh. Bashir trembled and whined with lust.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispered lasciviously. “I want you, Garak!”

Garak smiled and got on his hands and knees. “You know I want you to, but you refused to before. Why was that, I wonder?”

Bashir was becoming frantic. “Where’s the lubricant?” he asked shrilly.

“You won’t need it. The fabric will adapt if you go in slowly. It will even help me relax my muscles.” Bashir leaned heavily on Garak’s back, making him sigh contentedly. “Come on, doctor. Give me what I want.”

Bashir slipped in so easily that the sensation of being in that tight place burst upon him like an explosion. Moaning, he clung to Garak until his senses cleared enough to allow him to move. He heard his own voice, but didn’t know if he was speaking words or mumbling inarticulate sounds. The only coherent thought in his head was a question: _Why didn’t I ever want to do this before?_ But he had no answer. He pumped Garak’s cock ardently, growling softly with pleasure when he felt it erupt. _Why haven’t I wanted to feel him shudder under me?_ he wondered. _Why have I just sat back and let him please me?_ Orgasm followed orgasm in quick succession until he lost count.

“Oh, Garak,” he said gratefully, falling to the carpet at last. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Oh, Garak.”

Garak said nothing, but stroked him gently, sending small tremors through his skin. Bashir finally felt satiated and was content to accept Garak’s homage to his bare shoulders and gold-lacquered chest.

“I can’t believe we made it right here in the middle of your shop,” Bashir said lazily. “I was so far gone, I didn’t even think about it. I must say, Garak, you’re full of surprises.”

Garak smiled in acknowledgment. “I just like to keep you interested, my dear doctor.”

“Why don’t you call me by my first name?” Bashir asked, surprised he had never wondered about it before.

“I haven’t been invited to,” Garak said stiffly.

Bashir laughed and reached with both hands to bring Garak’s face down to his own. “Well, consider this an invitation,” he said seductively, with his lips touching Garak’s. “If you don’t have the right to call me Julian now, you never will. Besides, half the station calls me Julian.”

Something in Garak’s tone made Bashir move back to look at his expression. “I guess you don’t think I’ve taken much care with this relationship.”

“Not much, no,” Garak agreed. Again, Bashir couldn’t read anything in his face.

“I’m sorry . . . . Listen, I can’t go on calling you Garak, can I?”

“Then call me Elim. And thank you for waiting to be asked.” Garak looked pleased, and he let a spark of happiness shine forth in his eyes. Then they were blank again.

Bashir sighed and sat up.   “I’d better get this thing off so we can go.”

“I’m starving,” Garak said, rising. “It’s time to go to Quark’s.”

Bashir picked at the neckline of the suit. “How does this undo?”

“It doesn’t,” Garak said definitely.

“How can I get it off?” Bashir felt panic stir in his belly.

“When the time comes, I’ll let you know. Now, get your clothes on and let’s go to Quark’s.” Bashir stood up and stretched, running his hands down his torso to his groin. He noticed that the fabric had reformed once more over his flaccid penis, binding it firmly to his scrotum. “Well, at least I ought to wash,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

“No,” Garak said sharply, stopping him. “Don’t wash. There’s no need to. The fabric absorbs everything and adapts to any change.

Bashir sighed. “All right, Garak. I’ll go along with your game for a while. But aren’t you at least going to tell me what this stuff is?”

“I’ll tell you as you dress,” he answered. “Underwear would be superfluous, don’t you think?”

Bashir shook his head and laughed. “You’re getting your way tonight, Garak.”

“Makes a nice change, don’t you think?” He watched as Bashir brought his clothes from the dressing room and set to untangling the socks and underwear from the pants. “This fabric comes from Cardassia. It’s made from the web filaments of the _sloonon_ , which resembles those arachnids Mr. O’Brien seems so frightened by.”

“Spiders,” noted Bashir, pulling his tunic over his head.

“That’s right. Only the _sloonon_ is much larger than any spider. It spins a web across a path animals travel to get to water. The web is only visible in a certain slant of sunlight; from straight on it’s completely transparent.”

Bashir shuddered. “So most animals walk right into it.” He pulled up his pants.

“So did most people, at one time.” Bashir paused with one foot halfway into a boot.  

You mean it’s big enough to eat . . . people?”

“Yes, in a word. In any case, the prey is caught in a neural net, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, which absorbs any pheromones or other secretions emitted by the prey and ensures that no other predators will be attracted by its plight. The net connects directly to its nervous system; the more the prey moves and thrashes around, the more frustrated it feels. So when the predator comes back . . . .”

“The prey welcomes its touch.” Rapt in Garak’s story, Bashir moved one hand to his own chest and unconsciously fondled a nipple.

“Exactly.” Garak smiled. “Of course, we Cardassians have adapted the web to our own uses.”

Bashir laughed and moved towards the door. “You mean you don’t usually eat your victims?”

Garak cupped his hand over Bashir's genitals at the same moment he activated the door control. “Only in a manner of speaking.”

***

_He must be warming up by now. He was satiated a few moments ago but since then he’s walked quite a long way. The net must be fully activated, sending signals he can’t ignore through every part of his skin. This loose tunic I made for him hides the bulge I’m sure is there. Soon the net will bind him so hard he’ll have to reach down and release himself from its grasp. Either he’ll have to help himself or he’ll have to ask me. He’ll never be able to make it to his quarters now without collapsing in a fit of lust. This experiment of mine is frightening even me. We’ll soon see how it all comes out._

_How lovely he is as he walks through this place, this terrible place we both call home. Where a few years ago people suffered and died, now restaurants and boutiques hold sway. If past and future occupy the same space, we should be able to hear their moans and reproaches still lingering in the air. Or perhaps I only imagine them. Now golden Julian walks through this place, his self-confidence failing a bit as his sensations run away with him. He’s leaning close to speak to me. I feel his divine breath on my ear._

“Elim, I think we’d better go back.”

“Why, Julian, is something wrong?” _Ah. Too ingenuous. He scowls scornfully at me._

“It’s happening again. I . . . I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself.”

_My dear doctor, finally passionate. This is a sight I’ve waited so long to see!_

“When you stop moving you’ll feel better. We’re almost at Quark’s.” _He thinks about my perfectly logical advice._

“Yes, all right. But let’s get a table right away.”

_So I am to have my wish! Julian, helpless with desire, bound by propriety, sitting at my side in the midst of this crowded place. As we walk past the Dabo table, he brushes against a stranger and nearly drops in his tracks. I catch him, of course. I will always be there to catch you, Julian, whether you like it or not._

_And that, of course, is the problem. Since the first time I saw his long face, his lithe but endearingly clumsy body, I have schemed to make him mine. He has changed since then, even facing Enabran Tain for my sake—and I thought, I dared to think . . ._

_I dared to think he wanted me. Perhaps he did, even then. But my doctor doesn’t like to be out of control. A nice, safe affair with Leeta for him—even if he’s basically bored, he prefers a mild form of ecstasy to a controlling passion. Well, I don’t. Even after all those lunches, those conversations, those times when I tried to get him into bed, it took the threat of losing me to Tain to finally make him admit he wanted me. And I had to initiate things, too. I didn’t hesitate or give him a chance to withdraw. For two weeks I have given my love full reign. I have offered him my worship and he has accepted it. Now I realize that I must either teach him to respect me or lose him. I know he’s getting ready to leave me for someone comfortable, though I’ve satisfied him more completely than anyone he has ever known. Can I teach him the language of passion in one night? Will this garment, my poor offering, move my Julian’s hard heart, or will it set him against me?_

_Now, doctor, you and I will risk everything together. If the future is to be ours we will find out tonight._

***

_Finally, we’re at a table, in a corner near the wall. It was a mistake coming here, I know it. Why did Garak insist I keep this thing on to come to Quark’s? Does he even know how to remove it?_

_It burns me . . . I have to make sure I don’t moan aloud. This suit torments my skin. I want him to touch me. I can actually imagine myself sitting here in Quark’s with Garak’s hands all over me. I’m so close to asking for it. I could lean over this table and beg him to fuck me. Gods help me, I have only a shred of judgment left. Is this how he feels when I make him wait?_

“Garak, you have to help me,” I whisper. “Why are you trying to humiliate me?”

_He looks alarmed for a moment. I have the feeling that there’s something he wants from me, some answer. But I don’t even know the question._

“Garak, please!”

“Is it so humiliating to want me, then?” he asks softly.

_All at once I understand what this is about—the other day in the replimat when we were having an intimate conversation until Sisko and Dax showed up. Is he trying to force me into making some irreversible gesture so that all my friends will know how it is with us? Will he be satisfied only when everyone on the station knows he’s screwing me? I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I let myself get talked into this affair, this outing, this cursed suit?_

“Why can’t it just be our private business?” I ask, feeling helpless. “Why does everyone have to know?”

_Through the golden haze thickening around me I see Dax wave at me from the bar. I force a smile and wave back, wondering if she can tell something’s wrong. But she turns back to her drink and her date. Worf. It’s Worf. Oh, lovely. Maybe he can carry me off to the infirmary when I completely lose my fucking mind._

“All right, Garak,” I say, trying to whisper, but feeling that my voice carries to every corner of the bar, “you’ve reduced me to this state, now what are you going to do about it? I can’t make it back to my quarters like this.” He slides his chair over next to mine. Our backs are against the wall.

“Move your chair in closer to the table, Julian. As close as you can.”

_I do it without thinking, without asking why. I think I may have lost my powers of speech anyway. I’m afraid I’ll howl like a wolf if I part my lips. My erection is crushed painfully against my thighs. The fabric teases my ass until I can’t sit still. How I want him inside me!_

“Careful, Julian,” he says, encircling me with one arm and sliding the other hand from my knee up my thigh, leaving a wake of fire.  

_I don’t cry out. His words penetrate the fog around me slowly, and I’ve just understood what he said at the moment his fingers touch my cock through the fabric of my trousers. I gasp, then cough to cover it up. Does anyone look at us? I don’t know. I don’t know anything but his fingers teasing my erection out of its binding and stroking it to its full length. Three strokes and I’m coming. Only his arm around my back keeps me in my chair. Again, and it’s almost like an eruption inside of me, but the lava has nowhere to go. I’m keeping my lips closed tightly so I don’t scream and my head is on Garak’s shoulder but I don’t care anymore. He squeezes me and I come again, feeling like a rag doll on strings. Again. I pull his face around to mine and kiss him with my open mouth. His body starts in surprise. I’m his completely now and everyone can see. He holds me in his hands. Is this what he wanted?_

***

_Julian in my arms. He gives himself so ardently. I’m moved beyond my wildest expectations. Somehow I had thought my stubborn doctor would hold out longer, would wait until the suit itself made him come when his neural pathways overloaded. But he asked, he actually asked me to help him. And that kiss . . . ._

_Of course if anyone saw us they didn’t much care. It was midnight at Quark’s, after all. Stranger things have happened there than a golden Terran shuddering under the hands of an aging Cardassian tailor. So we didn’t make quite the spectacle the doctor feared after all. Worf raised a disapproving eyebrow, and that intelligent Lieutenant Dax actually smiled at us. Mustn’t underestimate her._

_We’re going back to Julian’s quarters. He’s still aroused, but he can walk unsupported. More than anything, he’s exhausted. I think he’s passed into the suffering phase. I have to watch and see that it doesn’t go too far. Oh, gods, he’s ravishing. Will I lose him tonight?_

***

_I don’t know what happened outside myself. Inside was a firestorm that swept away everything I wanted, everything I believed. He stayed with me, his strong hands led me through it. But they led me into it, too. What does Garak want from me? What do I mean to him?_

_Did Dax know what was happening to me? Did Worf? Why doesn’t that matter to me very much anymore? It should, I think. What will I think about this tomorrow?_

_This new skin has turned me inside out, skinned me alive. Am I alive? Do I want my old dull skin back again? I saw the way Garak looked at me when I first put it on. I felt like a god. Now I’m fucking crazy. I want him again. Put one foot ahead of the other till we get to the habitat ring. I don’t think I can wait._

***

_The second we’re safely in Julian’s quarters, he throws himself on me with more strength than I thought he possessed, smashing my back against the door with a bang and dragging me down to the floor._

“Take off your clothes,” he says lewdly. “I want to fuck you and then you can fuck me until I’m exhausted, and if you can’t, I’ll fuck you again until I am.”

_How can I say no to that? Without a word, I pull off my clothes and roll over to spread myself out for him on the floor. If he thinks I dominate him, he’s wrong. I belong to him._

***

_Elim, you’re so vulnerable. Why didn’t I ever notice how vulnerable you are? You always seemed so strong. I push into you slowly when I want to plunge right in, but I have to wait for the net to smooth my way. You wanted this so much. Why didn’t I ever give it to you?_

***

_He fucks me until he’s exhausted and I know he wants more, but his legs won’t hold him. Oh, I should probably stop it now, remove the suit, but I can’t help myself. I have to take him one last time. Who knows, it might be my only chance. I’ve opened places in him he never knew existed, made him do things he was always afraid to do. His friends have seen him kissing me in Quark’s. He’ll have that to deal that with tomorrow, too._

_I settle him on the rug and mount him, running my hands over the golden back from naked shoulders to gilded spine, sending visible shivers through his skin. I tilt his body sideways so I can reach his cock, the only part of him that isn’t starting to feel limp in my hands. Soon, too soon, his muscles clench around me, and I know I’m lost. This will be the last time for both of us, but, please, not forever. Gods willing, he won’t hate me forever._

_We take flight together, and I say all the things I ever wanted to say, all in a few words. I don’t know if he hears me. He’s still coming when I’m already slack inside him._

***

_Please, make it stop! If it weren’t for the indestructible fibers of this suit, would my body fly apart into a million pieces? Help me! Elim! Make it stop now._

***

_He’s writhing on the floor, still climaxing, pleading with me to help him. Damn me for a selfish old fool—I’ve let it go on far too long. When I lift him he feels light—too light—and I wonder why I didn’t just take what I was given, let the affair run its course, and let him stay a self-centered slut if that’s what made him happy. No, I had to shake him up, change him, maybe break his world apart forever._

_I place his body gently in the shower and set the warm water to a heavy mist. He clings to me as if I can save him. But tomorrow he’ll remember I’m the one who did this to him, and will I deserve his trust then? I tell him it will be over soon._

_And in a minute Julian sits there, bruised and weak, surrounded by a few melting brown shreds—all that remains of his magnificent golden suit._

_I wash him carefully and he responds to my touch with gratitude, kissing me sweetly as he never has until today. When I wash his sex he shudders, and I lighten my touch to let him know I have no expectations right now. We dry off together and get into bed, too tired to eat, or to think, luckily for me. And tomorrow?_

***

They rose late, and Julian went straight to the replicator to order them an enormous breakfast. Garak lay in bed and watched him, content to let Bashir decide what was to come, grateful not to have been sent out of his doctor’s life for another few seconds yet.

They sat naked at the table and ate a Terran breakfast: eggs, bacon, strawberries and some sort of sweet breads that Garak didn’t especially like. He waited for the axe to fall, but Bashir’s mouth was so full of food that he couldn’t have spoken.

Finally the doctor pushed his plate away. “Garak,” he began.

“Yes, Julian?” Garak’s chest felt heavy and a painful throbbing started in his forehead.

“I really ought to just send you away,” he said. Leaning his chin on his hands and his elbows on the table he regarded Garak straight on.

“Why don’t you?” Garak asked expectantly.

“Good question.” Bashir picked up his fork and played with the remains of his food. “Because I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

A warning signal went off in Garak’s brain. “I see. What about the rest of our relationship?”

Bashir went on as if he hadn’t heard the question. “You gave me an amazing experience,” he said. “That web must be a one-way osmotic surface. It might even be alive—some kind of parasite. I never would have guessed that water would destroy it because it was absorbing all my bodily fluids, but when water attacked it from the other side, it dissolved. I’d like to study it. I’d even like to . . . .” He paused. Bashir looked at him with wide-open eyes, full of confusion. “I’d even like to do it again. Sometime. Not soon.” He paused gloomily. “In a way, it was horrible. I was such a slave to my senses I almost completely lost control of myself. Do you know I nearly asked you to fuck me right there at Quark’s? As it was, my friends saw me kissing you, and they probably figured out what was going on under the table, too. I don’t know how you could do that to me. It was so embarrassing.”

Garak looked down at his folded hands. This was the moment he had been dreading. “You’re right, Julian. I . . . .”

“If you wanted to put me in my place, I suppose you did,” Bashir interrupted. “I haven’t treated you very well, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” Garak choked out, not thinking he would understand.

Bashir shook his head. “You were right to say I was ashamed of you. I know I denied it. I didn’t want to think about it.” He looked down at his hands. “I’ve even been thinking of putting an end to things.” Garak couldn’t answer. He had sensed this, but hearing it from Bashir’s lips was too painful.

“Being with you is too intense. You asked me why I couldn’t walk down the Promenade holding your hand. Well, I suppose I’m afraid of your possessiveness. That’s all I can ever read in your eyes.” Bashir folded his arms against his body as if he was very cold.

“So I made things more intense last night,” Garak said steadily.

“I have a feeling that’s what you intended to do—to bring things to a head, in a way. From the beginning you’ve wanted me more than I’ve wanted you. And now you want things to go on when I’m ready to call it quits. Maybe you just wanted to let me know how it felt to be on the other side.”

“It’s true, I suppose. I finally wanted to see some passion out of you,” Garak said, leaning forward and balling his hands into fists. “You’re so cold, so willing to take what I give you but not to give me much of yourself.”

Bashir frowned. “Do you really think so? Women tell me I’m very passionate.”

Garak laughed and shook his head. “What else are they going to say? You expect honesty?”

Bashir blushed and looked down to fold his rumpled napkin. “I’ve hardly ever gotten it from you,” he murmured.

There was silence between them.  

Garak said finally, “No, you haven’t. Would you like it now?”

“I’m not sure,” Bashir said in a small voice.

“I don’t have much to lose, then, if we’re at that point, do I?” Garak asked bitterly.   “Here it is, Julian.” He paused, teetering on the brink of pouring out his heart. Julian pushed his chair back and stared at him, wide-eyed, appalled. Placing his palms flat on the table, Garak slowly stood. “I’m not going to bare my soul to you, because I think your major reaction would be embarrassment. I have no desire to be pathetic, or to force myself on you. Shall I leave now?”

“Yes, Garak. I think that would be a good idea,” Bashir said harshly.

When he reached the door, Garak turned. “Good-bye, Dr. Bashir,” he said formally. “I hope we can meet for lunch again soon. I would miss your conversation.” He left so quickly that Bashir was shocked. He had somehow expected another trick, another delay. But Garak was gone.

***

After an ordinary day in his shop, Garak walked into Quark’s at about the same hour he had been there the night before with Bashir. Everything was the same except that no golden young Terran trembled at his side. He sat at the bar and ordered a kanaar, knowing he was attracting a good many stares. He smiled humorlessly at the irony of it. He and Julian had apparently caused a little stir last night. And why not? Julian Bashir, whether he knew it or not, was the center of a good deal of sexual interest.

“Ah, well, I’ve had my turn,” he murmured.

“Pardon me?” Quark asked in his raucous voice.

“Nothing, Quark. I’m just commenting on the idiocy of the universe.”

Quark shook his head disapprovingly. “No philosophizing in my bar,” he said solemnly. “Go somewhere else.”

“I’ve been kicked out of better places than this,” Garak retorted, “and recently, too.”

Quark rolled his eyes. “So I hear,” he said. It seemed that Garak and his protégé had attracted more attention than he had thought if even Quark was commenting on their sex lives. Garak took a long draught of kanaar and resolved to order another one.

“How did you do it?” came a melodious voice from behind him.

Garak put his glass down hard and narrowly escaped choking. “How did I do what?”

Leeta swung her hips around and settled on the next barstool. “How did you get Julian Bashir to kiss you in public?” she asked with a studied pout.

Quark zoomed in on them immediately. “Leeta,” he said, “what are you doing away from your station?”

“Get lost, Quark,” she said, waving him off without even looking in his direction. “I’m on my break. Get me a synthale, would you? And freshen Mr. Garak’s drink.”

Amused, Garak took his glass in one hand and turned to look at her. She wore a becoming silver-green evening dress cut dangerously low in front. He had fitted it himself. “Why do you want to know?” he asked flirtatiously, although he had little hope or desire that she was actually interested in him.

She looked at him with humorous scorn. “I suppose you can guess,” she said. “Won’t you tell me?”

“All right.”

Quark brought her synthale and placed it sullenly on the counter. “One _free_ synthale for an employee,” he said darkly, “which will be the downfall of this bar.”

She waved him away. “Shut up, Quark. I’m trying to talk to Mr. Garak.”

Quark topped off Garak’s kanaar and left, shaking his head in disgust. Leeta took a long drink, which left a foam mustache on her upper lip. She licked it off before answering.  

“You got Julian to kiss you in public. I tried to do that for six months and all I ever got was a peck on the cheek. I tried everything I had but he refused; he said it was too embarrassing. How did you do it?” She seemed genuinely interested.

Garak sighed. “I wish I could say I used my charm. Let’s just say that I tricked him.”

He had no idea why he was telling this woman the truth. Maybe he was just grateful to her for enlivening a boring and lonely evening. “Not that it matters now.”

“He broke up with you, did he?” she asked sympathetically. “Too bad,” she continued without waiting for Garak’s assent. “I thought you probably had the best chance anyone did of waking him up.”

“Waking him up?” Garak echoed, being deliberately obtuse.

“Oh, you know,” she said. They drank in silence, companionably. She sighed. “He sleepwalks through life, don’t you think? Nothing really touches him. He’s like a brother to me now, but at first I fell for him hard.” She shrugged. “I don’t really think he likes women that well, anyway.”

“You don’t?” asked Garak, surprised.

She winked at him. “Don’t get discouraged.” She stretched.   “Back to work. Don’t take it so hard, Mr. Garak. He breaks up with everyone eventually.”

“Why _does_ he do that?” Garak asked, not wanting her to go.

Leeta shrugged. “He’s afraid of other people’s feelings,” she said simply. “He’s mainly interested in you when you’re just about to go off with somebody else.”

Garak stared after her, impressed. _What a shrewd woman,_ he thought. _I must talk to her again._

He felt another body slip onto the stool next to him, and without looking he knew exactly who it was. He kept drinking his kanaar.

“Hello, Garak.”

“Hello, doctor. Keeping late hours, aren’t you?” He dared to look at Bashir, whose face looked pale and drawn.

“So are you.”

“Tailors often do. We burn the midnight oil to get our commissions done on time.”

“And yet here you are drinking a kanaar.” Bashir’s tone was strangely acidic. Garak wondered what was going on in his mind. Maybe they weren’t entirely finished after all.

“Can I buy you a drink, doctor?” Garak offered.

“I suppose. A synthale. Thanks.”

Garak ordered himself another, too, and they didn’t speak until the waiter had brought the glasses.  

“So,” Bashir said casually, “you were talking to Leeta.”

Garak shrugged. With his usual perversity, he was the most non-committal about the least important things.

Bashir took a drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What did you talk about?”

“Not much,” Garak said, as Leeta’s insights coalesced with his own into one grand insight forming in his mind, dragging a plan after it.

“Was it about me?” Bashir insisted.

“I don’t think so,” Garak said as if thinking. “We were just getting to know each other better. She might come to dinner with me one of these nights.” He fervently hoped that Leeta wouldn’t walk right over and deny it.

The startled look in Bashir’s eyes fully justified the lie. “She might?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” Bashir finished his drink quickly, while Garak had completely forgotten about his own.   “It’s just that last night you seemed so interested in me, and tonight . . . .” He trailed off.

Garak said casually, “I think I should get back to my quarters. I got very little sleep last night, and tomorrow might be a late night, too.”

“Oh, really?” Bashir looked positively upset.

“Well, if I see Leeta, I mean.” Garak became very nervous about this lie when Leeta spotted them from across the room and waved enthusiastically. She dodged through the crowd to reach them.

“Hello, Julian,” she said sweetly. But, to Garak’s surprise, he felt her hand drape across his own back. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said provocatively.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he rose from his seat.

Bashir got up at the same time and followed him out of the bar.  

“So, uh, Garak. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere special,” Garak replied. He could hardly keep himself from grinning broadly. Leeta must have seen Julian watching Garak so she went over and gave him something to think about. She certainly knew him very well. He wondered why she hadn’t used her knowledge to keep him for herself.

“I’ll walk with you to the habitat ring,” Bashir said nervously. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not, doctor,” Garak said, appearing not to care. “I just have to check something in the shop.”

“What?” Bashir asked urgently.

“I have to get out another _sloonon_ ,” Garak said. He marveled at how perfectly Leeta’s insights had completed his own. He had to make the next dress she ordered extra special. “What difference does it make to you, doctor?” he asked directly. “You hated it, and you didn’t want to try it again, remember?”

“I said I might want to. I told you I wanted to study it.”

Garak laughed. “Ah. For study you may buy your own. I find them much too precious to waste on anything but pleasure.”

They went into the darkened shop and Garak pulled another shapeless piece of fabric out of his storage cabinet. “Ah,” he said, “it looks like I have a few left.”

“Who else have you used these with?” Bashir asked, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice.

“Why, doctor, I can’t understand your interest in my leisure activities.”

Bashir took him by the shoulders and forced him around. “The last few weeks, while we were together, was there anyone else?”

Garak’s chest tightened; he didn’t want to tell this lie, but then he saw the flames of jealousy burning brightly in Julian’s eyes. If he didn’t fan those flames, he was lost. He shrugged. “There’s always someone else,” he said casually.

Bashir reddened. “I want it,” he said firmly.

“You want what? I don’t understand.”

“I want that suit. To wear it, I mean. I don’t want you to give it to anyone else.”

Garak smiled. “If you insist, doctor. But not tonight, I don’t think.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He took Garak’s arm again. “Please.”

“One of these nights, I suppose,” Garak answered slowly, grudgingly. “I’ll save it for you.” Without warning he took Bashir around the waist and kissed him long and intimately, using his tongue and lips as proficiently as he could. He felt a growing hardness in the doctor’s pants. “If you insist, Julian,” Garak murmured, “we’ll use the suit very soon. And when we do, would you like to go to Quark’s with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please return to the archive to leave kudos. Thanks!


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